


Yet Another Crowley Thesis (YACT)

by Azirashell_Ascendant



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (just a little), 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), 6000 years!, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Breakup, Character Analysis, Character Development, Character Growth, Character Study, Conflict Resolution, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Headcanon, Heaven & Hell, Heaven vs Hell, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Internal Conflict, Look! My Shoulder Angels, Love Confessions, Love Languages, M/M, Mentioned Adam Young (Good Omens), Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Romantic Gestures, Romantic tension., Sexual Tension, True Love, is this nonfiction?, technically an absence of ducks, wait, we're not looking at any text
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 21:35:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20571272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azirashell_Ascendant/pseuds/Azirashell_Ascendant
Summary: Faith, Religion, Humanism, SnekThe long-promised, tantalizing Ineffable Essay. Try it, it's good. And it's been thoughtfully broken up into bite-sized servings.





	1. Good Old-fashioned Lover Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Preface**  
So yes, I'm obsessed with Good Omens right now. Remember in Inside Out, how Joy fights to save Riley from depression by using a stack of her imaginary boyfriends to reach the Control Room? Yeah, it's kind of exactly like that.
> 
> "So then _why,_ AziraShell", you groan, "are you taking this very silly and delightful comedy and wringing every last emotional drop from its freshly withered corpse?"
> 
> Because, my children, it's what I do. Read on.**[1]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
_"Everything's serious," Aziraphale answers, "or nothing is," and he tilts his head back to look up at Crowley "_   
**-Forineffablereasons**
> 
> So there.

I've given up on an introduction. The elegant one I was constructing had some charming prose: fluid, playful, with a very smooth segue. Cute, pretty things like "Okay, that's a bit of a cheat to say; pretending twenty-odd years is a thousand," and "Good Omens may turn out to be immortal, but an ever-changing outer world will continue to paint our inner ones in its own new colours."

Except, in context, _ it was not true _ . Our world has changed, of course. I'm writing this on the tiny computer that I carry around everywhere. I probably haven't even been to a library in four months. (Libraries are a bit like Death: "WHEN IT COMES TO SOME THINGS, MACHINES WILL NEVER REPLACE PEOPLE.") But the anachronisms between book and series are surprisingly few (read _ none _). Crowley is mucking about with mobile phones; automated telemarketers still have a human doing the heavy lifting. Even the demonic answering machine is now simply a treasured antique. 

So, if not our world (again, in context), then _ surely _ our worldviews? Which ones? A terror for our rainforests and whales? That old married same-sex couples, if not always accepted, are at least expected in our communities? (Except for the actual married part. That _ is _ a gorgeous jump forward.) That adopted children are just as cherished as biological ones? That our universe is run by a constellation of little ones and zeroes? 

Maybe you can still make an argument for cultural influences. Example? _ "In the background Crowley and Aziraphale met on the tops of buses, and in art galleries, and at concerts, compared notes, and smiled." _ In the days of the Berlin Wall and _ Get Smart _ reruns, one pictured attache cases, newspapers that are not being read, discreet conversations during a day's window shopping. Though the liberal use of St. James' Park as a set piece remains, Aziraphale and Crowley no longer seem to be rogue agents skirmishing on the sidelines of a Cold War. Instead, commentators sigh over what romantic evenings they must have spent together.

So time does still pass. And like time, the text also adapts. My (very personal, maybe just me) memories of the book painted six different, intertwining storylines (think Trivial Pursuit, not pie); with characters who at last stand together to combat the world's end. Love is explored; but Coming of Age, and the bravery and bittersweetness that comes with it, is its pulse beat and its point.

The miniseries is Love exemplified. Let's steal shamelessly from Love Actually: "_ fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends _." And at its heart? The most beautiful love story ever told. Oh, and the world may be ending soon.

Extraordinary romances require extraordinary circumstances. And Crowley and Aziraphale have had six thousand years to practice. The longer they live around people, their feelings unconsciously take on more and more human dimensions: friendship, tenderness, and something close to (or perhaps more than) romantic love. Definition really ought to feel constricting; but giving shape (if not precisely names) to their feelings actually enhances their ability to express them.

Ironically, there does seem to be a human concept that can be named, but not yet fully understood. (_ Does that make it... ineffable?) _ Hunger. This evolving idea of hunger is overpowering, surprisingly physical, intimate. A hunger that seeks to embrace, not ravage or devour. (An appalled Screwtape actually would be sending a strongly worded note; no matter what Crowley says about his lot.) **[2]**

Hunger is not at all what you would call safe, but the fire you are devoured in is welcoming; enveloping softness under all its savagery and sharp edges.

It's the Universe Crowley doesn't trust.

Because hunger has introduced another new emotion: Fear. Crowley has known Terror through Divine and Infernal punishments; he is no stranger to Grief or Despair, either. But Terror is a thing for what is happening; Fear is for what _ might _. 

That's a bit ironic, as it is Aziraphale who unceasingly fears for Crowley's safety. Crowley is far less concerned. Reviled by Heaven and out of step with Hell, Crowley is already quite clear that he is his own side. He is also fairly clear that his intensity for Aziraphale is shaping up to be both panoptic and enduring. It _ has _ no shape, but it is an unwavering brightness on his landscape. 

Aziraphale can still only radiate anxiety. At every turn, his very first instincts to protect are brushed aside or crushed. Heaven now requires him to turn his back on human suffering and to despise the first friend he's ever made. Increasingly uncomfortable with Divine retributions, he will at least bear witness to them. By the time he's arrived at Golgotha, (still faithful, still trusting) Aziraphale is out of party lines to parrot. However, he is God's representative on earth and he is going to see it through. 

But it's not always alone. This time, Crowley is wearing full mourning; and a face that has been hollowed by sadness and grief. True to form, he seeks Aziraphale out first; but this time he appears ready for battle, not banter. That's not what he finds. Sympathetic Aziraphale raises a shaky, snarky wing. They commiserate, tell secrets, share. And do you know what? _They go off together._

The next time Crowley and Aziraphale find each other, Crowley is all sharp edges again: bitter, brittle. He has found his first pair of dark glasses. He snarls at a startled Aziraphale, then turns his back to the rest of the tavern: humans and the angel alike. But Aziraphale perseveres, and Crowley, softening, recognizes that the wings still cover him. He also rediscovers how enchanting he finds Aziraphale's adorkable charm. And so Crowley permits himself to be whisked away to the first of many meals, conversations, and cozy evenings.

This never stops. Magical tumblr girl (_ I have gotten way more mindful about citations since this.) _ **[3]** points out that it is almost always Aziraphale who turns their interactions into relaxing dates afterwards (I think her exact wording was "turning their business into social occasions.")

Crowley's heart never stops fluttering, either. Here is this fusty, slightly selfish, rigid, repressed and repressive middle-aged librarian, with a Distinct double chin (if not more); and he is gorgeous Crowley's Beatrice.

This archetype of Aziraphale charms the audience as thoroughly as his lover. His fanart is exquisite. Without changing a single thing: still soft, still dorky, still constricted in movement and appearance, Aziraphale is still breathlessly, unfailingly beautiful.

Do we see ourselves in him? Maybe. I suspect that many of us have days (_ months, years) _ where we feel distinctly unsexy (unless you actually are Michael Sheen). But through our artistic and analytical efforts, we have created a certain sense of intimacy with these characters and their world. There's a sweetness to the idea that Aziraphale is beautiful to us because we are seeing him through Crowley's eyes.

I like how circular this is. We may have identified with Aziraphale because we could not imagine being considered attractive, and we end being dazzled by this angel's loveliness.

That may be why the jump from analyzing Aziraphale's dual journeys to synthesizing them is so frustrating. When going strictly by the text, Aziraphale kind of becomes an object. He is the Beloved to Crowley's Lover; their romance, a classic narrative of Pursuer and Pursued. Aziraphale is charming, desirable, blossoming with innocent sweetness. But he seems to have far fewer opportunities to be loving than to be loved.

This is a very nice way of saying that there does not appear to be a lot of...reciprocity in their relationship. 

Crowley spoils his angel rotten: indulging every whim, safeguarding from all harm, all simply for the sake of Aziraphale's breathtaking smile. We see Crowley give and give and give: time, treats, attention, patience. Aziraphale largely gives back...Beauty, just like any other fairytale princess. Beauty, _ and _ a love for Crowley that flows over every creature comfort Aziraphale can offer him as well. 

Crowley makes grand, romantic gestures. Aziraphale's gestures are the little touches that make everyday life worth living. Spreading his wings wide, Aziraphale invites Crowley into his _ own _ safe spaces; always turning them into places of refuge for our lonely snake.

Well, when they are close. Aziraphale's ongoing war with his instincts tends to push the two in and out of each other's orbit. Azirafuck notes that "_ from day one crowley's been the one who tiptoes closer but says nothing and aziraphale's been the one who lifts his wing to welcome and protect him, and they just kept doing that for 6000 years _."

But Aziraphale is tiptoeing too. The growing conviction that "_ They will destroy you _ " has recast (read overwhelmed) his feelings into an anxiety that can only protect at a distance. Crowley unfailingly flies to Aziraphale's aid; Aziraphale now flies away. Perhaps he should have held onto that sword a bit longer. Aziraphale's constant second-guessing has convinced him that he can only keep Crowley safe by saying no. Um, yeah, have you noticed that never works?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of you have probably heard of the Kuleshov effect, so please take opinions on our good old fashioned lover boys with a grain of salt. I personally could not parse even a quarter of the angels' interactions while they were up on the screen, _(of course_, a fallen angel is still an angel. Says so right on the tin and everything). Anything that I may have actually gotten right, I owe to all the remarkable gifs that can be found on Pinterest or Tumblr. (Hi, Fuckyeahgoodomens, hi! I love you!! <3)
> 
> **[1]** BTW- Wow, Informal Essay is informal. I call these Conversational Essays (still organized, but very chatty). When you're not worried about Peer-review, let yourself go…
> 
> **[2]** ref. Letter XVIII (roughly page 92?)
> 
> **[3]** If you know who she is, _please_ help. I Needs my attribution hit!)


	2. Timey-Wimey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YACT, Part the Second. Allons-y!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what? I still have NO idea how to parse the Camelot interaction. (our family now consistently greet people by saying "S'all right guys, s'all right. I know him," if that helps at all)
> 
> Crowley does do his cobra charm sway _in full plate armor_ though. Wow, Tennant. Just wow.

By 1603, Crowley appears to have the human experience to understand his feelings and the language to define it. He's not using it, naturally, but it doesn't matter. Crowley's physicality gives the game away. He has begun to coil around Aziraphale...Protectively? Possessively? Or simply in aesthetic admiration? Crowley is certainly all enamoured indulgence; finding only pleasure in Aziraphale's buffoonery: 'Wow, my boyfriend is such a dork.' Underneath, he is carefully drawing Aziraphale into closer, more consistent intimacies. In turn, being the center of Crowley's coils (and attention) is leaving Aziraphale giddy. 

Between 1793 and 1862, I think it's pretty clear that Crowley is now actively courting Aziraphale. I'm sorry, flowers _ and _ chocolates? Aziraphale flying on wings of love to their 1862 meeting? (I'm not budging on this. Not even with a card table and a "Change my mind" sign)

In light of what is admittedly my (text-supported!) headcanon, 1862 becomes a bit clearer. Aziraphale's "fraternizing" not only mischaracterizes their romance, it reframes their entire relationship for the past 60-67ish years **[1].** He is not only undoing Now; he has left Crowley feeling very lost and alone, a beach with a very sudden and very confusing low tide. He gapes silently _ But we are in love! We were in love! Aren't we still? We were! We...were. _ (At the heart of it, at least. Up top, he's too busy shooting the angel who out drew him.) The desire to strike back also comes on sudden, rushing waves. But rages tend to have riptides. This kind drowns mercilessly; Crowley curls up in bed and sleeps for decades.

At any rate, the decades that lead up to 1941. Of course, first off, this is The moment when Aziraphale realizes that they are in love with each other. With all due deference (yes, deference) to Michael Sheen, I still contend that Aziraphale didn't properly Understand the nature of Crowley's feelings before now, and discovers both at the same time. My beautiful oblivious dork. ^_^ So it goes without saying that he wouldn't have understood his own either. (I give him a pass here too; because honestly, who does? We all discover it, not call it into being).

And then...1967

Seeing Aziraphale in his car stuns Crowley nearly breathless. That Aziraphale brings up the Holy Water again nearly leads to tears. (You can see Tennant's adam's apple shudder while he's simultaneously gasping for air.) Then Aziraphale pulls out the thermos and all pretence of breathing stops. 

Theologie describes this moment as a near literal offering of Aziraphale's heart.

"I am literally not even kidding they light the Holy Water in focused red as aziraphale hands it over trembling and crowley accepts it with reverence and disbelief going "it's the real thing?" IT IS HIS _ LITERAL _ HEART."

Time starts up again. Diffident Crowley is now brave enough to declare himself. The first one gets the "Don't look so disappointed. We'll...[just go on the way we were.]" Crowley responds by somewhat desperately amplifying the soft humility. 'We'll do whatever you want, the way you want to...just, please?'

"_ You go too fast _."

This is worlds away from the confident, oh-so-cool "Lift home?" of 1941. That may be why this is the first time we see the pattern **[2]** of Crowley declaring himself twice. As painful and confusing as it can be (oh, and it is), Crowley knows that he will never truly be harmed under Aziraphale's cherishing wings **[3]**.

So in true Crowley fashion, Crowley lays himself bare and gets rejected and lays it out Again. Anthony Janthony Crowley, under his cynicism and snark, is eternally constant, vulnerable, and brave; True Love personified.

Well...the patient, kind, no brag or boasty kind, at least. He ticks every box. Except being able to put Aziraphale's needs above his own.

You would think that this is Aziraphale's besetting sin. There are times when he doesn't seem to put_ anyone's _ needs above his own. But our Tempter extraordinaire has a rhythm to his romance: meet me, meet me, meet me, come to me, come with me. And, in 1967, stay with me.

Tempters remind us how closely related captivate is to capture. To draw in the object of their desires (what they _ hunger _ for), they lure, they encircle, they ensnare. And when their prey (?) has at last been drawn close, they bind. Think of Kaa, another seductive serpent, and you can actually see the coils. Aziraphale coquettes, flounces, and charms. But it's invariably Crowley that we see trying to bring Aziraphale into himself. So, so many of his temptations are snaked, whether they are romantic or not. Even in 1967, Crowley, in his very own humility and submission, is still trying to touch what _ he _ so desperately wants. (Stop snickering) For all his flaying and grand gestures and patience, Temptation is a shield Crowley cannot lay down.

So he backs off into a respectful friendliness. They flirt outrageously, bicker like an old married couple (as they are); the casual easiness of their intimacy just blends them seamlessly into each other. Crowley _adores_ **[4] **Aziraphale (there's simply no other word); Aziraphale is dizzy, charmed, longing...and conflicted. They really do almost succeed in maintaining a place that is 'the way things were'.

Almost.

Existing fissures begin to crack at Tadfield Manor. True to form, Crowley has been indulging Aziraphale's whims all day; Aziraphale offering sweet smiles and huge eyes in return. Flirtatious and bantery, emotional manipulation has never been more charming. After all, right now it's a game for two; Crowley is mostly giving as good as he gets.

And then, in a moment that is more likely provocative than oblivious, Aziraphale pushes his "oh, you big softie" schtick too far. The tiny pang of resignation and regret (which I'm sure comes up all the time with no bones broken) this time flares into a small burst of rage.

"_ I'm not Nice. Nice is a four letter word." _ Like Love, for example, or kiss, or hold, or hope. I'm a demon, remember? You should, as often as you remind me. So, no, I don't do disinterested agape or random fellow feeling. I do it for YOU. I do it only for you. All for you, you bastard, and you _ know _ it.

I had interpreted this moment as a reminder of the intensity of Crowley's feelings; it can be seen as a reminder of the intensity of his pain **[5]**. Maybe you could call it a juxtaposition of 'Don't even go there' and 'May I remind you why we don't?'

It's a reminder for us too, that Crowley has, in fact, Fallen. He is not just a snarky, loveable prankster; there is an uncrossable gulf that keeps both his God and his beloved heartbreakingly beyond his reach.

He still reaches out. It's personal, intimate; is this how they had talked Before? _ ("I only ever asked questions!"). _ Everyone else makes phone calls. Crowley is the only one who prays; for mercy, not on Humanity, but for Humans. Like his buddy Shakespeare, he loves them; loves them Because he sees them clearly.

"_ You shouldn't test them to destruction _."

The greatest fucking irony, of course, is that Humans 'pass the test'. They respond to the nuclear crisis with communication, cooperation, and trust. Madame Tracy literally wrestles with an Angel to save the life of a little boy (suck it, Jacob); the Them face both their nightmares and the futures they will create with calm bravery and decisive beliefs.

THIS is the Humanity that Crowley intercedes for: the beings that imagined and built enough weapons of destruction to lay waste to an entire planet; the beings that, through empathy and cooperation, work together to stop the impending cataclysm.

Epicurean Aziraphale is in love with the world itself: the pleasures, the beauty, the new magics every day. In love with Crowley. This is something that I _ don't _ find more selfish; it's another one of their beautiful complements: each together encompasses the whole. 

They are perfect complements in heaven as on earth. Aziraphale's faith is innocent, childlike, trusting (nothing wrong with that); but as it conflicts more and more with his innate goodness and kindness, it flickers.

When Aziraphale says those horrible, ugly things about being holy, it's yet again about reinforcing himself (and the need to be a 'good' kid, not just a kid who does good). While battling his own demons, **[6]** he is completely losing sight of the one in front of him.

This time, Crowley, wholly rejected and actively demeaned, loses his cool. For the first time in their history together, _ for the first time in history _, Crowley's gentle challenging becomes something like an assault; his undulating snake charm is now a cobra ready to strike. Hissing his last words, he storms off: 1862 in a funhouse mirror.

Aziraphale calls him back. In the Last Temptation of Crowley, he seduces, exploits, and challenges in earnest. He throws out 1862 entirely and names their relationship for what it is: "_ We're on our side". _ But Aziraphale suddenly recognizes this Temptation for what it is. And he strikes back hard.

This is the moment where Aziraphale (obliquely) admits that he has lied to and betrayed Crowley. That, honestly, he would do it again. Angel and Snake have swapped places. And so the truth bombs start to fall, with all the precision of...an air strike during the Blitz.

They should be standing naked before each other; but they aren't. They've decided to stage an adaptation of _Pride and Prejudice _instead. Aziraphale cannot overcome that ingrained obedience and Crowley cannot release his need to seduce. Their breakup is gut-wrenching.

We see them again in front of Aziraphale's bookshop. Always the more self-aware of the two; Crowley is fully conscious and overt. His snakey siren song confesses: _ when you cut it right down to the bone, my only world is you. Everything else is frosting. So let's go to Alpha Centauri; the binary stars that merge into one. _

Aziraphale is yet again trying to have it both ways: we can be together, maybe even have our love sanctioned, AND I can stop Armageddon without having to change Any of my loyalties or preconceptions.

The Bookshop is really Bandstand part 2: Aziraphale has _ always _ wanted to have it both ways. And once more Crowley lays himself (flays himself?) bare and gets rejected and then flays himself _ again._ A vulnerability that is so breathtakingly courageous.

But until (oh god, unless?) his angel figures it on his own, Aziraphale is always going to choose Heaven over him. Always.**[7]** The realization robs Crowley of all his cool "Fine"s, "Obviously"s, shrugs, or sad silences **[8].** This time he screams his rage and pain, lashing out in earnest. Good. He can channel that energy into facing some demons that aren't of his own making.

Not that Crowley is burning hot. The dramatic flair he brings to this endeavor is icy and meticulous. Fortunately, Hastur and Ligur are more than ready to supply the usual bombast and melodrama **[9].** Must be a demon thing.

Right in the middle of Crowley's duel to the death, Aziraphale calls, choosing HIM at last. He's dreamed of this moment for _ Six Thousand _ years, and he doesn't even get to experience it. But Hastur is dealt with and Crowley exultantly flies to the bookshop. **[10]** To find Hell; beyond any mere place, but in the most literal sense of the words. 

Suddenly Armageddon has become irrelevant. Aziraphale's shattered, suicidal Crowley is not going to go on any Roaring Rampage of Revenge, or even to desert the "bastards, all of them"; shrugging off the whole mess and flying to the stars. God, what would be the point now? He has flayed himself alive, again, and again. Now he is finally dying from his wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[1]** I have a theory (alright, a headcanon) about Aziraphale's subtext in this scene. Look for it in a ficlit later. It makes a huge amount of sense, but I just can't back it up. 
> 
> **[2]** _ This_ interpretation is not as much a "Change my mind" as it is a "Fight me, bro."
> 
> **[3]** I insist on this interpretation of romantic declarations (in a _single_ interaction). This is not to say I disagree with the contention that All of the temptations have a doubled cadence of their own.
> 
> **[4]**A word which here means _itself_. Actually literally Adoration. (And an actual literally _literal_, too.) I don't often complain about the debasement of language, but that's because I was saving it all up for here.
> 
> **[5] Sonseulsoleil** explores this concept with extraordinary sensitivity and thoroughness.
> 
> **[6]**May I just say kudos to **kzmos**, who wrote on the emotionally abusive atmosphere of Heaven? I see it now in every anxious smile, every shrinking posture, every stammer, every flinch. Thank goodness for fics like _A Love Like Moonlight_ and their desperately needed catharsis.
> 
> **[7]** Aziraphale's essay will tell Aziraphale's story. Unless, of course, I get impatient _again._
> 
> **[8]** It's difficult to return to the wing motif as a literalism, or even as a metaphor, without making Crowley sound disturbingly unsound and codependent. This is not an addict Crowley panicking about some wing fix (ugh!). It's that separating in this way fundamentally changes the nature of their relationship; metaphorically, it ends it. Aziraphale leaving, Aziraphale left behind, Aziraphale dead: these really are the only places that Crowley could ever be unsafe. But, seriously, in a cosmic sense, not a conscious one.
> 
> **[9]** Why is this not "sound and fury"? It was at first, but it does **not** scan. Try it yourself.
> 
> **[10]** At least, he starts out exultant. When we see him again, his face is beaded with sweat; dialing and redialing Aziraphale's number in increasing desperation. A large part of the fandom thinks that Crowley physically feels Aziraphale's discorporation. He has, after all,_ never _experienced the world without Aziraphale in it. Do I believe it? Yes. Yes, I do..


	3. Armageddidn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, at the end of the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun, dun, Dun! (Maybe?)
> 
> So we left off on a bit of a cliffhanger. Hmm, can nonfiction have cliffhangers? I don't see why not. I've always argued (sometimes with actual people) that all writing is narrative anyway. If your treatise does not in some way follow Freytag's story arc, ya done fucked up, son.

Aziraphale, in turn, is racing to Crowley. But yet again, his faith is wavering. "Both ways" doesn't really come from Aziraphale's selfishness, but from his innocence; at both the bandstand and the bookshop, his two faiths dueled. But three have ridden as two for _ way _ too long. Aziraphale's faith in God must be separated from his faith in Heaven. Up until now, only Crowley has been able to make that distinction **[1].**

Watching Crowley drive off is _ 1967 _ in a funhouse mirror. He went too slowly and is now left behind. Abandoning Crowley and abandoned by Heaven, Aziraphale is still fighting his way up to the Almighty. But once again Heaven is blocking the way. Sadder but wiser, Aziraphale spends his last Divine credit collecting military intelligence. Then he's off to share it with "our side"; where, he now recognizes, he'd belonged from (almost) the Beginning.

But Crowley is enigmatic and dismissive. (Book!Aziraphale cottons on rather quickly; this one is struggling with too much emotion to process anything). Aziraphale is left thinking that his choices have alienated him from everything he's ever loved and trusted. The only person who's offered him any sort of kindness or solidarity was a comforting human, passing by. 

_ "Excuse me, why are you two people?" _

If it's the universe that Crowley doesn't trust; anxious Aziraphale has no faith in himself. 

He only wanted to protect Shadwell; not sacrifice himself. Had to be done though, mate. You release the old to embrace the new. 

For once, Upstairs is populated. Heaven's vast blankness is filling up. The...Empty was terrifying; the colour guard stretching out into infinity is terribly, terribly sad. Susan Kane could not have felt more isolated and alone. Aziraphale stares into this infinity mirror and...does not see himself. Discorporation may have destroyed his earthly body, but it was really the last shreds of his belief in Heaven that burned away. (Also Good. He is no longer beholden to Heaven for _anything._) Aziraphale, who has been somewhat cowardly (or maybe just hesitant) on earth, embraces his bravery in Heaven. Being shouted down by that buffoon of a quartermaster** [2], ** who reminds us that _ loud _ is not the same as _ effective_, is the last straw.

There's some popular imagery in the fandom that is _ perfect _ for this moment: _ Aziraphale walks backwards out of Heaven, flipping everyone off with both hands. _ To Hell (ha-ha) with the Good Kid, Aziraphale stops questioning himself. Oh my goth, it's the contrast between Orpheus and Psyche. When you are trembling on that brink, there are no half-measures; you jump. 

Aziraphale's Leap of Faith lands him in Crowley's lap. Crowley, who also believes he has lost everyone **[3]** he loved and trusted, has been mourning his Fall. Aziraphale plummets down; Crowley dreams of rising up. Arms open to the Heavens **[4],** he catches him. _ Jump, fall......and caught_: Crowley and Aziraphale both.

Except now it is Aziraphale who cannot believe he could be forgiven. Aziraphale takes a good long look at the good and evil that he has wrought, particularly to his other, (he believes better) half. He finds the apple rather bitter. After orienting himself, Aziraphale's first tentative question is a sad, 'It's too late to match your speed, isn't it?'

But Crowley opens himself up once more. Out of skin to flay, he cracks open his ribs and exposes his heart.

Apparently, Aziraphale had already stolen the knives anyway, because the weight of Crowley's millennia-long patience and pain slices him through **[5]**. (He's not crushed. Crushed implies a cessation of action; not a call to arms.) He visibly swallows, and offers his apology unadorned. A team again, they can now turn back to solving the problems of the outside world. 

Both bluster as the implications of Aziraphale's brainstorming immediately present themselves. Aziraphale attempts to logic his way out of the breach (or is maybe trying to be talked into it). Crowley, clearly both receptive and hard, is also hastily backpedaling. They still have an Apocalypse to fight, and each other to fight for; the details can be hashed out later.

Crowley snarks; their world is righted. Echoing Barnum **[6]** (it's the old people's version of The Greatest Showman), their reconciliation seals itself with an: "It must be alright. We're quarrelling again." Flourishing Agnes Nutter's book, Crowley is no longer asking for, or trying to get. Now it's 'What would you like? How can I support you?' There's no more 'I want', but 'I want to help.' Aziraphale's 'woke', understated apology simply drops that whole 'Will they? Won't they?' stuff. _ They Have _ . And it only took six thousand years. 

Except...except that they kind of haven't; not just yet. Like the space between derailing Armageddon and facing Lucifer himself, they are in this uneasy limbo. They have understood their lessons; now they need to apply them.

When Aziraphale raises his sword, Crowley crumbles like a child; he will _ die _ in his own safe space. At least Aziraphale's face will be the last thing he ever sees. But then Aziraphale drops the real bomb. _ "I will never speak to you again." _ It's not a threat; it's a promise. They cannot protect each other here, not even with the antediluvian **[7]** sword Aziraphale wields. There wouldn't even be any dancing with each other as binary stars. Aziraphale and Crowley are going to be lost to each other forever.

The fandom consensus seems to be that Crowley's increasing panic has the pulse of an hourglass: every tick of the clock is a grain of time lost. Now, it's run out. So Crowley... makes more. It's not for them. This is to support the humans that they have faith in: in deed, to counterpoint the words before. They stand with Adam for the world, for the people in it, for his own sake **[8],** and for an eternity with each other.

Crowley steps back. He's let go of his need to influence or convince. Instead, he offers Adam his support. Aziraphale gently shares his new found wisdom, as well. "_ That’s not a bad thing to be, Adam. You know, I was scared you’d be Hell Incarnate. I hoped you’d be Heaven Incarnate. But you aren’t either of those things. You’re better than that. You’re HUMAN incarnate." _ You don't have two halves, you have one whole person. 

On the bench at the bus stop, Aziraphale once more refers to his side. He knows he doesn't have one anymore, and has never felt so lost and alone. This time, Crowley's "_ we don't have a side" _ is reassuring; an amplification of Anathema's sweetness with Newt: he " _ must be a good witch finder. He found" _ her. 

If it's what _ you _ want, "You could stay with me." Crowley puts Aziraphale's needs above his own--he does not lure, beg, seduce, command. No tempting, not even asking...Offering.

In the beginning, there were the _words_; at the end, they make bookends of the books. The text adapts. For Humans, if not yet for Heaven or Hell, the secret to immortality has always been change. Eternity is found in eternal reinvention. **[9]** Like love. Aziraphale, finally free to consider his own wants, boards the bus...and gently lays his hand over Crowley's (no really, look at the screenshot!). In the novel, Crowley takes them home by Jeep, gracefully offering _ his _ hand to Aziraphale. They don't need the Bookshop as a nest or the Bentley to fly to freedom. Nor does it really matter where they're headed; could be the Bookshop, or the Apartment, South Downs, Tadfield. Even Alpha Centauri. " _ Our side _ " is Home. **[10]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[1]** Gabriel has the exact opposite problem: conflating his will with God's, instead of cherishing God's will over his.
> 
> **[2]** I found this scene hysterical because it is the quintessence of the Quartermaster trope. It's possible that the very use of this stereotype reflects the staid, unimaginative, and rigorously hierarchical nature of Heaven.
> 
> **[3]** Query: Aziraphale, not yet reforged, mourns for _everything_ that he has lost. Crowley mourns for _everyone_. It's an important distinction, and I like it, but is it too subtle to notice?
> 
> **[4] Not** Heaven.
> 
> **[5]** Shut up, _you're_ the mixed metaphor.
> 
> **[6]** Michael Crawford. Tightrope walking. May I just repeat that? Michael Crawford, on a tightrope, singing a love ballad. Don't expect it to be great, but there are moments, dude, there are moments.
> 
> **[7]** A word which here means 'before the biblical Flood' (literally). Lovecraft is the living god (this time, not literally), but I'm going to have to steal this one back for now.
> 
> **[8]** Warlock, Warlock, Warlock. Imagine him explicitly cherished through the headcanon of your choice. He may turn up in a future effort. I do have one further word to say regarding Warlock. Actually, it's five.
> 
> _TV Tropes: Five. Man. Band._  
(Though, is it possible that Warlock is the Adam of his own gang? The kids who spoke up at his birthday party were Wensley and Pepper to the life.)
> 
> **[9]** I first thought this and wrote this about-and it will always be about--David Bowie. 
> 
> **[10]** _Everyone_ goes home.Shadwell and Tracy, Anathema and Newt also come home to one another. Warlock and Sgt. Deisenburger go home to their roots (in America, of course, where _anything_ can happen). Adam and Greasy come home to themselves; with not so much as a glimpse into their future, as a shimmering promise of it.


End file.
